chapter 7
1278 Words
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Ambrosio Private Airstrip-malaysia
The night wind swept across the runway.
Spotlights cut through the drizzle asivate jet rolled to a halt, humming like a caged beast under a silk sheet.
At the far end of the tarmac — a woman in a maroon leather jacket, arms crossed, fury burning behind sunglasses perched on her head.
Tengku Natalia Dyer.
Her glare alone could make any pilot consider turning back to Mexico.
The jet stairs lowered with a hiss of hydraulics.
Daniell stepped out first — face calm, posture unbothered.
But Natalia was already striding forward.
“You’re twenty minutes late…”
“…and I’ve got twenty reasons to ruin your ego.
BAM!
Natalia’s stiletto struck the jet’s tire.
The ground crew flinched. The guards froze. No one dared intervene — not when Tengku Natalia was in this mood.
Inside the jet — Tabby stirred, rubbing her eyes.
She peered out the window — caught a glimpse of tropical rain, neon tarmac, and Malaysian soil.
“…Wait. Where are we…?”
She stumbled down the stairs — hoodie half-on, hair a chaotic halo, clutching a tiny bag.
“Dani—did you kidnap me?! You brought me to MALAYSIA without asking?!”
Daniell raised both hands.
“Technically, I carried you because you wouldn’t wake up — even after I pinched you three times.”
Tabby tugged the hoodie tighter.
“I was dreaming about fried chicken… I thought I was in heaven…”
Natalia shot her a cutting smile.
“Welcome to Malaysia, Tabby. Heaven comes with delayed flights here.”
Tabby scowled. “You people are dramatic.”
Natalia: “You people are always late.”
Daniell lifted a finger. “At least we’re fashionably late.”
Finally, Natalia’s expression softened.
She draped an arm around Tabby’s shoulder.
“You’re lucky you’re not deadweight to him. I once watched Daniell leave a man at the Turkish border for being five minutes late.”
Tabby: 😳
Daniell: “He was old. He wanted to pray first.”
Natalia: “Prayer or not — time is time.”
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📌 Closing line — Slow-burn threat ignites
Daniell slipped his hands into his pockets, eyes flicking beyond the runway fence into the shadowed distance.
“How many people know I’m back?”
Natalia’s banter vanished — replaced by the strategist.
“If Paksu’s half as smart as I think… he knew the second your tire hit this soil.”
Daniell’s jaw tightened — but a grin ghosted at the corner of his lips.
“Good. Let him prepare the house… for the hell I’m bringing with me.”
-+
Two matte-black SUVs idled outside the fenced perimeter of the private airstrip.
Brian stepped out first — navy suit, dark gloves, hair slicked back with not a strand out of place.
Rahim leaned against the rear door, a cigarette dangling unlit between eyes like a wolf who’d smelled a storm before the thunder cracked.
“Welcome back, boss,” Brian raised a hand in a crisp salute.
“Route is cleared. No drones, no tails, no digital footprint.”
Daniell gave a curt nod.
“Good. We’re not going home. Take us straight to base — Wolf Bunker 01.”
Rahim flicked the cigarette to the ground — crushed it with his boot.
“If you’re back on this soil, boss… that means the storm’s rolling in with you.”
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🚙 On the road — to The Den
Tabby pressed her forehead to the window — jungle creeping closer, the road narrowing into a path of mud and shadows.
Natalia sat silent beside her, phone in hand — tapping the screen for signal that never came.
In the passenger seat, Daniell looked calm — eyes forward, mind a chessboard of moving knives.
Finally, Tabby broke the hush.
“How many people know about this place?”
Brian spoke without turning his head.
“Only four. Rodrigo — Daniell’s father. Myself. Rahim. And the boss himself.”
Tabby squinted.
“Not even your Uncle Rico?”
Daniell answered, voice flat.
“If he knew… he’d be ash by now.”
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🛡️ THE DEN — Wolf Group’s Underground Safehouse
The convoy rolled through a hidden tunnel, headlights bouncing off concrete and vines.
An iron door — four inches thick — slid open with a hiss.
A retina scanner flickered to life, scanning Daniell’s eyes like a digital god deciding who lives and dies.
A cold AI voice echoed through the steel:
“Welcome, Tengku Daniell Alexandra. Status: ALPHA. Access granted.”
Inside — three stories of concrete and armored glass.
Walls lined with locked racks of weapons, floors humming under a grid of surveillance feeds.
A silent fortress for a war no one outside would ever see coming.
Rahim flicked on the overhead lights above a wide black table.
“We do this now. A full debrief. Every route. Every file. Including…”
He dropped a hard folder onto the steel.
It hit like a thunderclap in the bunker’s hush.
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📁 Inside the folder — one name, written in crimson ink:
Iskandar
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Inside the safehouse’s main war room, the ceiling fan hummed — blades slicing the stale air like clock hands counting down to war.
A single warm light spilled over Daniell’s face as he stood by the table — eyes locked on the open Iskandar file.
No one spoke. Not Tabby. Not Natalia. Not Brian. Not Rahim.
They waited for the truth — and the storm it would unleash.
Finally, Daniell’s voice cut through the bunker’s hush.
“He’s not Rodrigo Ambrosio’s son.”
“Not my bloodline. No legitimate claim to any branch of our name.”
Tabby sank into the nearest chair, her fingers tight around the folder’s edge.
“But… why did your father ever name him as a possible heir?”
Daniell’s jaw tensed — muscle flickering under skin hardened by secrets and scars.
He pulled a yellowed paper from the bottom of the file — handwritten in ink only the dead could contest.
“If anything happens to me, power passes only to my own blood — Daniell, Aadayan, or any child born from Ambrosio lineage.”
Natalia’s eyes narrowed on the faded script.
“Then Iskandar was never an heir. He was a weapon.”
Rahim flicked on a CCTV feed — a drone cam flickering across a foreign compound.
Iskandar’s face glitched into focus: half shadow, half ghost.
“But he’s not just any weapon. He’s rage on a leash — cut loose.”
Daniell stepped closer to the bunker’s glass wall — voice low, lethal calm bleeding through every word.
“He can steal documents. Forge data. He can even kill for my father’s signature.”
“But there’s one thing he’ll never touch…”
He turned slightly — eyes cold fire.
“My blood.”
Tabby rose — quiet but unflinching, standing shoulder to shoulder with him now.
“If he’s not your father’s son… then who is he?”
Brian’s voice was dry as old steel.
“One name. Buried in Paksu’s old Shadow Line files — Iskandar bin Rafique. Rogue asset. Deep program, Lisbon, 2001.”
Natalia’s gaze narrowed to a blade’s edge.
“Rafique… the bodyguard who vanished after the Lisbon betrayal?”
Rahim nodded.
“Exactly. Iskandar wasn’t adopted. He was embedded.”
Daniell’s hand closed over the pistol on the table — the metal glinting under the bunker’s harsh lights.
With deliberate calm, he slid it into his waistband.
“He’s not of this family.”
“He holds no right to this legacy.”
“But if he comes to claim i
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